


Empire

by BabyThursday



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13324284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyThursday/pseuds/BabyThursday
Summary: Much of life is a series of mistakes and misunderstandings, the Moon King, the Sun and, his Daughters are no exception to this.(First post & I am bad at summaries.)





	Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing I threw together after watching Kubo the first time, all mistakes are my own

The stars shone with immutable pride upon his garden, a brilliance of myriad colors, unwavering and unceasing in their ebon sheaths. Their innumerable points an unsleeping gaze piercing and all seeing, a vast ocean of eyes with which to look upon his silvern domain. Each one possessed of a beauty as ceaseless as his own heart and magic, immortal and all powerful, an existence without beginning or end.

Beneath their gaze he sat, their uncountable watch showing him all the splendor his blinded eyes could not. The garden he had built over the millennia of his unending life splayed around him in glittering leaves and shimmering twigs, flowers shaped from careful breaths, paths wound from strings of gossamer hair and, pools filled of purest light made solid by his will alone.

All this overseen by the palace of quicksilver made solid, each stone placed by precise motions and painstaking plans. A roof of upswept tiles crowning colossal walls painted with murals of stars and moonbeams, carefully maintained so as to never chip, edged with silver filigree shaped into spiraling whorls and fragile loops. Its halls filled with the finest silks and softest cushions, delicately painted shoji and, gilded columns. He had built this palace long ago, when he was far more young, and his heart eclipsed by the sun, and his realm barren of all but the blackness that followed Amaterasu's golden light.

From his flesh he had pried his teeth and bones, shaved them thin for thirteen nights before resting in darkness on the fourteenth. Then as his body healed he would shape the whittled white into careful shapes and lay them as polished stones and sturdy planks to build a castle to reflect Amaterasu's wondrous glow. Upon their faces he brushed his own argent blood carefully let from porcelain cold palms onto brushes of his own shorn hair to gleam with portraits of her blazing visage and warming presence.

Then from his fingers and toes he pried his nails to make shining tiles to shape a roof to hold her light and block out the darkness beyond. He would sit in that darkness for days on end, freezing the breath in his lungs until his every exhale could be held in quivering hands and shaped into the beautiful sconce work and trim which would serve as mirrors to his love's splendor so that she might believe his simple efforts lovely.

And finally, from his tiring body he cut swaths of ivory skin and pulled strings of sinew with which to sew drapes and pillows, thin lines skeins of bladder and stomach to craft shoji and lanterns. Each item carefully harvested for fourteen days and molded for fourteen more, his body waning and waxing with each exertion. But such trials were worth it, for the sun was perfection, and deserved only the same.  
Her smile a great beam of warmth across all that was and would be, her hair rays of light arcing out into the eternal darkness which cradled her and, her face so aglow with beauty that truly gazing upon its was an exquisite agony. All of this he tried to emulate in his construct, to pay homage to the one who owned his heart and gaze, to give back the warmth and light she bestowed onto him.

Once his work was finished, only the central garden unmade, waiting for her radiant hands to bring it to life, he went before her, eyes down cast and now withered hands trembling, and begged her to come see the gift he had made for her. She had laughed, the sound a great breath of heat and fire across his prostrate form, and touched his lined face to feel the self-made scars of his labors. Then she had clasped his hand and bade him lead the way, and with aching body but lightened heart he did so.

Her gasp upon sight of his gift was soft yet sharp, a disbelief which stilled his blood in dread, but her careful touches and reverent gaze, seen only through reflections and sidelong stares brought strength to his withered heart. She drifted through halls lined with odes to her splendor, drifting gentle fingers over all she passed, until she came to the empty stretch of courtyard where he told her of his plans for its completion.

Again she laughed and clutched his hands, demanding that he show her how such things could be shaped, her voice excited and pleased. Eyes slitted against her brilliance, but heart illuminated by her pleasure he took her hands in his own and drew them into curving shapes, building sturdy trunks and furling boughs, delicate flowers and heavy fruit, seeing in his mind the images he wished to make real. He guided her hands as she wove her magic, forming a gleaming tree to stand in the middle of her sprouting garden.

They spent many days in her garden, crafting paths and shrines, ponds and plants, his eyes stinging and his hands burning as he led her through their dance of creation to the tune of her jubilation. Each leaf a tiny canvas of veins and each stone a palette of moss, tiny creatures of scales and feathers molded between them to give motion to their painting. And as the days grew long and Amaterasu's attention wavered he gave to her the broadest strokes to paint and left her to wander their creation alone as he etched the minute details with blurring eyes. He spent so long in her glowing garden, ensuring her gift's perfection that he failed to hear her voice for days on end, keeping the comfort that all he did would be appreciated once finished close at hand.

When finally he lifted his head from his careful task the world was dimmed, his beloved's glow muted by the lingering sting of her power. He looked for her then, passing through halls picked over and studied, paint chipped and planks splintered, finding Amaterasu nowhere within. Pained by what he saw, but knowing his gift was hers to do with as she pleased, he looked into the void and ached at what greeted him.

A great sphere of the darkness spun free and bound in the sun's glory, covered with her glow in the form of great oceans and forests, myriad creatures both massive and tiny scurrying about in forms both elegant and ugly. She greeted him there amidst her creation, laughing and joyful, and for the first time, with his vision so wavering, he could look upon the wonder of her blazing visage. Scarlet bow shaped mouth and gleaming black eyes separated by a tiny delicate nose and high smooth cheeks, she was a perfect as his heart always knew her to be.

She smiled, a wide crooked twist of vibrant red, and drew him into her new domain, telling him of the things she had created, the many different shapes she had made of her own crafting, her own imagination. He smiled, his blistered sight gazing upon her works and seeing only imperfect reflections of his own, plants and trees progressively twisted into flawed parodies that faltered and decayed even as he watched. But, even then they were beautiful, for they shone with the glory of Amaterasu's light, bright and ever shifting, and so, fleeting though they were he loved each that she revealed to him.

Until she spoke once more of his gift, sighing over its stagnant perfection, claiming her creation to be superior in its fleeting fabrications, each unraveled thread allowing her to craft something new in its place, little care for the attention needed to build something lasting. And though wounded by her words and perturbed by her designs he smiled, lips cracked but unpained at her joy, he laid hands to help her shape her chosen garden. 

And so they labored on in their previous fashion for millennia more, great swaths of power laid out by her delicate, glorious hands, his own dull fingers etching in tiny details and patterns behind. With each century that passed his vision grew dimmer and his form thinner, his eternal body given no time to heal itself until one day his eyes could no longer perceive to beauty of his beloved and the world she created went dark.

He went before her then and begged her forgiveness for stopping, professing once more his adoration of her glory and promise to return once his vision returned. She paused in her motions, standing still so that her warmth washed over him, and brought him joy in his blindness that the pleasure of her presence no longer caused him pain. She dismissed him then, musing then that if her splendor so ruined him that perhaps he should stay farther in his following, live only in the darkness which grew once she passed from one part of her garden to another.

Grieved, but accepting of her wishes, he returned to the palace he had built for her and waiting once more for thirteen days to heal, before returning to her once more. They worked in tandem, he following where she left, tying up lingering threads of power and molding tiny things to fill out the large, catching only the most fleeting glimpses of her brilliance as she passed from view. Thus they continued, her designs growing more strange and fragile with each pass, until no matter how quickly he worked it was impossible to keep pace.

Again he went before her, begging her to slow so that he might continue his work with proper diligence, posture shamed and eyes down cast. Once more she paused, glow warm enough to hurt and voice aflame, words dismissive as she bade him leave if he could not keep to his task, scoffing at how slow his over-care always made him.

He fled from her then, heart grieved and eyes pained, back to the palace he had once given her, that now she never stepped foot in, and sat within the garden that they had once together crafted until its brilliance burned away the sting within his watery vision. He sat in darkness, filled with sorrow until his heart could hold it down no more and from his eyes fell all the light Amaterasu's power had burned into them, bright flecks of power which drifted into the darkness to nettle it with brilliance.

He wept until there was no more brilliance to give and the darkness was awash with light, and though his vision was still dim he could see all that dwelled beyond Amaterasu's light, each star a replacement for the sight he so foolishly lost. And through them he saw the first garden they had created, glowing and resplendent, and though he still loved it, now he hated it as well. He looked upon it and saw only his beloved's cruel use and scorn, all the eternal things he had gifted to her only to be made as twisted and fleeting as her affections.

He railed then, burn-silvered fingers digging into glistening soil to tear away the sunlight and cast it from his multifaceted sight, gathering it tight into a resplendent ball within aching hands. Only, once gathered, he could not cast it away, his heart still so in love that the glow remained captivating to his gaze.

So instead he molded it, shaped it with quick, efficient hands and steady brush strokes until in his arms lay a creature of Amaterasu's power, layered over with his own quicksilver blood. The child, tiny and still, bore the features of the sun well, mouth a curving line of ruby, cheeks and nose shapely and delicate, yet her hair flowed in long trails of ebony silk, much like his own once had. But the child was still in his arms, the power he had used to form her not intended for such use by his hands, so he simply held her and watched over her through his gleaming eyes, weaving together a kimono of the silken fabrics which lined his halls and stitching it with stars.

For many days he watched as the sun passed from the sky, seeing her only as fleeting stains of color across the rim of her garden, as he carefully planned the rebirth of his own, the child laid gently at his side. Until finally the ire grew within him to replace the adoration and he looked upon the distant glow with hardened eyes and envious heart.

Taking the child of his garden in his arms once more he went to the place where Amaterasu's waned and gazed upon her glory once more, the blaze of her power burning the edges of his vision to darkness. Carefully he held the child as he stood within the sun's realm, casting his frozen gaze upon her once more yet now seeking to leech the blinding power from her glory instead of basking in its warmth. He did not leave his vigil until all the world was black and his eyes wept with overflowing power once more, only then allowing the stars to guide his way home through the darkness, those that fell from his eyes marking the sides of his path through the heavens.

Once returned to his halls he held the child close, and with his empowered flesh breathed upon her cheeks and across her hands until warmth, blossoming and soft filled the crafted flesh. And though he could no longer see her face so near his own, his eyes upon the heavens showed him how warm amber formed her gaze, bright and curious as she looked upon him and touched his face. He caught those tiny hands and held them close, leaning down to bestow a name upon his beautiful creation; Sariatu.

He did not release those hands as Sariatu rose from his arms, holding tight as she wobbled against his legs and clung with warm palms to his own cold fingers. He held her as she paced his barren garden, her laughter ringing in his ears as she stumbled and yet continued, burning eyes upturned entranced by his stars. In time her steps strengthened, and her grip loosened, so that he could release her to run about the courtyard and into his halls, always returning with her beautiful laughter to his side.

He spent centuries in her company, teaching her all he knew and rebuilding his halls and garden with the aid of her delicate hands, passing his power over splintered columns and broken stones until they were made perfect again. They reprinted chipping murals with diagrams of the stars above them and scenes of her design as she learned to speak stories of her own. They crafted a garden of dainty waterfalls and gleaming flowers, argent bridges and meandering paths.

And though Sariatu happily worked beside him her attention would eventually wander, leaving tasks unfinished and creations half formed. But he found no fault in her youthful wandering, for so encompassing was her joy that surly no single thing could fully hold it. Instead he let her wander and in her inattention molded two more children with which for her to play, delicate silver things, pristine though muted for the lack of sunlight in their veins. He held them close and breathed life upon them, and once their silvern eyes opened and their delicate fingers clasped his own, whispered names into the ears; Karasu, Yukami.

Sariatu rejoiced at her new sisters and pulled them along to teach them all he had taught her and all that she had discovered on her own, laughter on each of their lips. His heart had lightened with their questions and games, each upturning their faces to gaze into his eyes and find images and patterns therein, allowing him to see the shape of their happiness along with its sounds. Karasu and Yukami often coming to his side to seek how immortal cranes were sculpted and flowing smoke was poured, Sariatu coming to ask him to play his samisen beside hers and why the colorful sunlight was far and forbidden.

His daughters grew in time, centuries passing as Amaterasu's garden passed forgotten below them, until beautiful women they became, filled with strength and skills all their own. He let them leave his garden then, secure in the knowledge that they would be safe from all harms to seek them, untouchable by the sun's burning power. One warning, one single limitation, was all he ever have them, never go into the sun's blaze, never let Amaterasu see them and find the wish to steal them away. They returned to him from their forays with tales of the strange shapes and creatures which filled the sun's garden, of the flawed, dying people she had made to fill it. Of how they unraveled even as they were formed, fraying at their edges and unable to heal, coming undone only so that she could weave them anew into some new, now more pleasing form.

Yukami and Karasu bore sneers in their voices as they spoke of their discoveries, sitting beside him with their pale faces upturned to his stars, contentment glowing in their shimmering eyes. Sariatu returned with questions over her findings, wonderment over the ever changing face of such a garden heavy in her voice, her amber eyes muted with confusion when less and less she thought to raise them to his own.  
He watched her, his heart heavy with fear as she turned more and more from his gaze, seeking instead to gaze upon the sun's garden below. Until one day Yukami returned to him with tales of a great daimyo who had gathered the greatest crafters to dwell within his lands, commanding that they build for him a suit of armor and weapons of molded sunlight so that the lord might purge the darkness of night from Amaterasu's domain.

Frightened for his daughters he stretched out hands of moonlight as the daimyo slept unguarded in his own unimpressive garden, snuffing the man's life with a simple pull on poorly tied threads. Then he sent his daughters to steal the only pieces of the man's desires yet completed, the Sword Unbreakable, the Breastplate Impenetrable and, the Helmet Invulnerable, bidding them hidden inside traps of his own making so that never more would Amaterasu's flawed creations threaten them.

The Breastplate he gave to Yukami to place within a garden of eyes which devoured all who met their eternal gaze. The Sword he gave to Karasu to bury in the skull of a great beast of everlasting bones alongside myriad blades of false nature. Finally, the Helmet he passed to Sariatu to place within a great chasm of teeth within an unending desert of illusions. With each of the pieces hidden, and the daimyo and his crafters slain, he felt safe with his family once more, and turned instead to building a garden alongside them to fill between the stars.

Yet, even as their universe unfolded, filled with as many wondrous creations as could be imagined, Sariatu still returned to Amaterasu's paltry garden. He allowed her forays, content with her joy at the suns fumbling and with her continued keeping to his only warning. And one day, long after he had all but forgotten of such ugly things, she brought him word of another seeking the sunlit armor.

So, frightened once more, he cast his gaze down onto the sun's creations and found there a young samurai seeking to gift such power unto his master. Karasu and Yukami scoffed at such a feeble creature's endeavors, even as Sariatu was fascinated. But he was not so reckless and instead sent down great beasts of moonlight to slay the man as he huddled indoors and away from the all-seeing gaze of the stars. The samurai fell before his magics, fragile and poorly crafted, and in relief he drew his daughters close and wept upon their hair, auroras of gleaming silver blooming where his tears washed.

All was content for a time, Yukami and Karasu at his side in creation and Sariatu to craft stories from music and paper. But eventually she came before him once more with stories of more of Amaterasu's seeking the sunlit armor, seeking to steal away his family. Once more he sent down monsters upon the garden of the sun, slaying all that could not be reached by magic alone, until only the wily few eluded him. Upon those he set his daughters, their skills with blades and bows unmatched by the fleeting study of all those who stood before them. Their small, mobile eyes able to seek where his myriad gaze could not, flushing their prey to the open where his whispers on the moonlit winds could guide their weapons and his magics aid them. No man would ever claim the power to assail the heavens, no man would take his children.

The hubris of man continued for many years, drawing more and more of his attention from building upon the infinite garden alongside his daughters, each passing century making Yukami and Karasu more bitter and Sariatu more distant. Until finally a man came, a samurai like so many others, but more cunning and determined that any who came before. This Hanzo grew in power and influence amongst his kind, drawing closer and closer with each passing day to uncovering where the pieces were hidden. With little choice left, all of his monsters and powers defeated or evaded, he sent his daughters as one to slay the man and end his threat.

But Sariatu had grown restless and intrigued by the man's ingenuity, and while he spoke with Karasu and Yukami of plans and tactics, lacing their armor and sharpening their weapons, she left and faced the man alone. She did not return, and when her sisters went to seek her they found naught but her sword left abandoned.

Their grief was unimaginable, their sobs wracked the heavens with light and thunder as together they wept more stars than the heavens could hold, the brilliant lights raining down upon the sun's wretched garden. Afterwards they sought the samurai ever more fiercely, their wrath bringing a pall upon the lands of his lord and clan until all was ice and wind. Their search fruitless and bitter until, in the night, the cry of a babe was heard cross the heavens, warbling yet strong, and led them to where Sariatu lay. And the horror of what the samurai had done to her, how he had corrupted her and leeched away her powers into the form of a child. Her glow, once the brightest of all of them, was muted and flickering, and he wept once more as he pulled the offending child from her arms, looking upon this flawed thing that had so stolen his eldest daughter, Karasu and Yukami slaying all those who served the murderous Hanzo around them.

It was tiny, flushed with sunlight and weeping, squirming in his arms with scrunched face and dewy amber eyes, Sariatu's pilfered light glowing from within. But though his ire was monstrous and Sariatu's betrayal fresh, he could not kill the babe, for it was no more its fault for what Sariatu had done than was his for Amaterasu's cruelty long before. Instead he reached for the perfect amber resting in its face, seeking to free it from the traitorous power such gaze held over those born from the power of the sun. The eye came free in a warm rush of vermillion, the tide quickly quelled with a balm of careful magic, the orb tucked quickly into his inrō for protection as he reached for the other.

A sword piercing his chest drew him away from the babe, dropping it in shock and pain, Sariatu catching the tiny being as it tumbled, the sword retreating from his ribs as he turned upon the one who dared to strike him. There stood Hanzo, face scratched and bloodied from Karasu's claws, and in a fearful rage he struck at the man, frightened of what had been done to his remaining daughters. He had flung the man from his palace, casting him down into the burning remains of its garden. There his daughter waited, an army of corpses strewn around their unsullied feet, and together they tore the samurai asunder, pulled his flesh and mind until it gave and could be shaped anew.

They placed a curse upon him, forcing his body into a shape hatefully insignificant and biting with irony, an insect, a lowly thing to crawl through the mire once all of the memories were poured from its head. Only then did they return to where Sariatu had lain, the beetle left rightfully forgotten behind them. But Sariatu was gone, the babe taken by her into the night, and no matter how he searched, her magic clouded his own and she remained hidden from his silver gaze.

But he never stopped seeking, searching for his daughter's child so that he could save it from the curse of the sun, from the inevitable self-destruction such light would bring. He watched from his garden a myriad of eyes in uncountable colors to gaze down upon the sun's miserable garden of hate and heartache and death, seeking out the innocent child trapped within such a cruelly flawed creation. In his lap resting the small fox engraved inrō with hare shaped netsuke which held the child's severed eye, waiting for the day he would place both orbs amongst the heavens so that the child might see unhindered the universe as together they crafted its infinity without end.


End file.
